Chapter Text
The rest of the night was...tense, to say the least. The silence between him and Tom stretched brittle and hostile across the house, as bad as it had ever been right at the beginning of it all.
It was the least festive thing possible. They didn't have any decorations, and Tom didn't seem to care about doing anything to celebrate the holidays at all. Thankfully, as Tom had promised, he was leaving now that the Malfoy party was over.
It couldn't come soon enough, frankly.
Tom had begun searching into who could have performed the Enico Curse, but Harry privately thought he was more concerned with a security leak then anything else. Oh, he dutifully took note of Harry's slightly weakened condition, and made sure that health wise he could want for nothing and was soon well on the way to recovery, but…
Well, Harry wasn't going to delude himself that it was for his benefit. It was just for the immortality that he fostered, wasn't it?
Harry, for his part, did his best to ignore the conversation they'd had about ultimatums, though it was never really too far from his mind.
Obviously, helping Voldemort return was out of the question. He just...couldn't. He didn't care if he was supposed to be a clever Slytherin about it, he just could not bring himself to do that.
He couldn't even think about it without wanting to smash something! The very thought of Voldemort gripped him with an all consuming terror, matched only be the rage that boiled every inch of him.
When Tom dropped him off, he didn't even say goodbye.
The house was gapingly silent. Tom would never have thought the silence of just his own company would have bothered him - he'd always enjoyed it during his Hogwarts days, compared to the bustle of the Orphanage.
But now, it reminded him too much of the diary. He'd grown used to the sound of Harry wandering around the house, his not so-discreet discreet attempts at learning more about wards or escape plans. His rambling at the dinner table, just the noise that came from another occupant even if they were quiet.
He'd never been the fondest of celebrating Christmas, and he'd never been one to consider himself tied to the expectations of society. He saw no reason to surround himself with people just because it was the end of the year, out of some ridiculous tradition.
The silence stretched.
He went to go and find Voldemort.
The Weasleys, at least, seemed happy to see him.
Harry had initially intended to spend Christmas at Hogwarts, like he normally did. However, in light of recent losses and reunions, the Weasleys were making an extra effort to all be together at Christmas - and they'd invited Harry to join them.
It was lovely. On Christmas Eve, the house was lit up with lights, warm against the winter chill outside and - even with the heavy weight of Mr Weasley only being in the diary to talk to - everyone seemed to be making an extra effort to be cheerful.
There was a sprawling pile of brightly wrapped presents under the tree, and delicious smells in the kitchen of a large ham cooking.
Mrs Weasley had made them hot chocolate, and he was currently playing chess with Ron and things were better between them, more normal, than they had been a while. Complaining about Tom seemed to put Ron in a good mood, and Harry certainly had enough to complain about.
"He's an unfeeling git," Harry complained, drawing the blanket tighter around him.
"Don't do that." Ginny's quiet voice finally broke him from his reverie, and he glanced over. "Do you really think that?"
Harry's mouth suddenly went dry.
"I – uh – I don't mean unfeeling, I just…"
"He feels a lot. More than most, possibly, or at least more strongly when he does." Her fists clenched. "It's stupid, and you're underestimating him to assume he doesn't. Even if he puts a lot of effort into making it seem that way."
"I think the point was more that he's an uncaring bastard," Ron said.
"Well, that's wrong." She stood up, arms wrapped around her chest. "And you know it is." The silence rang in her absence as she walked out.
After a moment, Harry stood up and followed.
He knocked tentatively on her door.
She was lying on the bed, throwing a rubber stress ball into the air and catching it. Up, down. Up, down.
"Sorry."
"What are you apologizing for?" she asked, a little coolly. "Talking about him in front of me?"
"… I've offended you."
"I assumed you understood him better," Ginny swallowed. "You won't survive him if you don't. I was … I was so blind, and it cost too much." The ball hit her hand again, before she looked over, appearing worn beyond her years. "You can't do that."
Harry wetted his lips and stepped forwards, letting the door swing shut behind him.
"He's awful."
"Of course he is," she said. "And he's brilliant. He's charming. He's callous. He's ruthless in what he wants. You can't just take one bit, he'll use it against you … you know he's not that simple. You live with him, and I've seen it on your face."
Harry sighed, tugging a hand through his hair.
"What's your view on all this then?"
She shrugged, awkwardly sitting up. Her hair spilled over her shoulders like the sun setting on water.
"I don't know. I just know that he's very good at playing the game, so if he's … reacting intensely now, then something is up."
"He's just annoyed he's not getting his own way," Harry muttered. Annoyed, perhaps, that he couldn't just treat Harry however he wanted, without consequences for his actions.
Ginny watched him quietly.
"Tom has a habit of getting his own way, with time. He doesn't hold grudges like that."
"Tom does so hold grudges!"
"Probably," she said. "But not like that. He'll get revenge, and maybe he'll always remember slights against him … but it doesn't suit his purposes to wallow, or even let you know that you got to him. And holding a visible grudge shows too much of his feelings, doesn't it?"
Harry blinked in surprise, never having thought of it like that. But, if he did … then he didn't know what to think of Tom's behaviour then. Because by all standards of stoicism, it was strange in how obviously hostile a coolness it was. He wetted his lips, trying to think.
What he wanted. What Tom wanted. How they tried to get what they wanted, and how that might have clashed.
Obviously, Tom wanted his bloody Horcrux under control. Obviously, Ginny was just completely mistaken and didn't know the young Dark Lord anywhere near as well as she liked to think she did.
Harry was a prisoner – and, with Tom's behaviour and stubbornness, he had the awful feeling in his chest that that was all he would ever be. All Tom would ever view him as. A necessary prison, some precious trophy to be buffed to perfection and then displayed to the world like a jewel of his triumph.
"He really does hide his feelings very well," Ginny pressed. "You know how much he wanted to get out, and he had me utterly fooled. I was an idiot, but even so … my dad had warned me about magical objects. If he'd done anything suspicious …"
So what did it mean, that Tom was visibly on edge now? Visibly showing his hand with him?
Of course, Harry had already known who the man was. It had already been revealed, so … well, by a trap of honey and flies, deception was still necessary.
Tom could probably do honey and flies flawlessly, if he wanted to. He had, with Ginny. To some extent (although Harry didn't want to – wouldn't – admit it), he'd been just as taken in, considering the time that had passed and his greater reasons to be wary…
So, what was behind what Tom wanted?
Harry was a Horcrux. He had a piece of Tom's soul. He helped keep Voldemort immortal. Was there more to it then that, things that he didn't know?
Tom could have been lying, at the end of the summer, when he'd said that he didn't know why he had taken Harry with him. Yet, if Harry had to pinpoint a time when he most believed Tom was being honest, it would be then … so did that make it all a lie? Or did it mean Tom hadn't always known he was a Horcrux?
The conversation about soulmates hadn't happened on the first day. Tom had certainly seemed fevered with his realization. So had he found out then?
Harry had told Tom that he had taken him because he was lonely –
Harry's mind ground to a halt.
Tom took him because he was lonely.
And Harry consistently pushed him away. Harry, Tom's Horcrux, Tom's soul, pushed him away, generally called him a monster.
Ginny stood as the colour drained straight out of his face.
"Oh god," he whispered. His chest ached. It wasn't that Tom wasn't an awful person, it was … Harry could imagine the feeling of not being wanted by anybody at all. Had felt it himself, for many years, at the Dursleys. It was the very thing Tom was using against him – those promises of acceptance.
Tom came across as not caring about such things, so maybe he was completely wrong. But he didn't think he was … not completely, at least. There might be more to it, probably was, as he very much doubted that Voldemort – even at sixteen – was ever just a poor misunderstood orphan, but … oh god.
At least Harry had only ever been rejected by other people. He'd always had himself for company. Tom had himself for company – in the diary. Just him.
Alone then. Alone now. Alone now, at Christmas.
"I-I think I need to go," he said. He shouldn't feel guilty. He had no reason to feel guilty.
He felt horribly guilty.
Nobody deserved to feel like that! Nobody!
"Are you alright?" Ginny asked. "What is it? Did you figure out what's wrong – Harry!"
He'd distractedly charged away from her room, and stopped at the cry.
"Thanks!" he said quickly, before continuing down the stairs.
"Harry, mate –" Ron began upon seeing him.
"Mrs Weasley, I'm really sorry and I'm really grateful that you're having me over … but I have somewhere I need to be."
"Harry, don't be silly –" She turned around, brow furrowed, from where she'd been in the kitchen. All of the Weasleys were staring at him in bewildered astonishment, even Ginny who'd followed him down.
"Harry, I didn't mean –" Ginny started.
"Merry Christmas." And, for the first time, Harry twisted the wristband Tom had given him to take him home.
Nobody was home.
The cottage was completely empty, and maybe this had been a bad idea. He couldn't get out, after all, due to the wards, and he had no proof or knowledge about when Tom would be coming back. If he was coming back at all during Christmas, and hadn't swanned off to Malfoy Manor or wherever else he might go.
Harry swallowed. Absolutely refused to be intimidated, even as some of his determined bravado faded from him, devoured by the quiet darkness of the house.
He figured someone would come looking for him eventually, and Tom would presumably turn up before he died of starvation. It just…
Okay, he was not thinking about that for Christmas.
Hopeful thoughts.
He got to work.
It was surprisingly companionable, spending time with Voldemort. Once they got past the posturing and the grabs for dominance, at least. For all that people too similar to each other in conflicting ways could never get on, they also had all the non-conflicting ways.
They shared the same interests, after all. And Voldemort had a lot of stories to tell, that Tom enjoyed listening to. And at least it was an intelligent conversation, with someone who didn't judge his perspective. And, if they did, it was in the vein of an older version of himself. A more insane version of himself, perhaps, but…
It was hardly sentimental or anything.
Nonetheless, it was one of the better Christmas Eves he'd spent – though of course anything beat Christmas in a paper prison, even his own personal jailor.
His wand hit his palm the second he arrived at the cottage.
The lights were on.
Had someone broken in? The wards didn't seem to be broken, when he tested them cautiously. Though with Dumbledore, that didn't necessarily mean anything. Tom's eyes narrowed as he considered his options.
Approached slowly, silently letting himself in, a curse already on his lips in preparation and…
Oh.
Harry was curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. There was a book, which had evidently slipped to the floor whilst he'd attempted to stay awake. A dusting of … white powder, on his cheek?
Tom approached like one might approach a wild and rabid beast, until he was standing over the boy. His head turned this way and that, like a greyhound on a scent. His finger stroked once through the powder and down Harry's cheek, before he padded to the kitchen.
Food. All sorts of leftovers of a Christmas Eve meal in the fridge - Harry had been cooking. There was a cake too. He assumed now that the powder must have been flour, or sugar, or some other such substance for the work of art squashed between various other culinary items.
He blinked slowly a few times.
He was aware that he'd had the ingredients to bake in his cupboards, from his initial preparation for these holidays before things shifted, but…
There were soft fairy lights up and everything. Obviously conjured by magic, which was simple enough, but…
He moved back over to the sofa where Harry was still sleeping, eyes narrowed on the boy. He was up to something. He had to be up to something. What was he doing here? Did he want something?
He hadn't expected to even hear from the impudent brat until he returned to Hogwarts, in class.
Harry didn't look injured. He didn't look like he'd been poisoned again, or like anything had happened with the Death Eaters, which might compel him to seek Tom out.
Simply put...he appeared to have turned up for no reason at all. Tom's lips thinned.
He went and checked the Christmas cake for any poison, or suspicious curses. Nothing. It was just a Christmas cake and it made no sense to him at all! He supposed Harry had a tendency to be a little strange, but…
He walked back over to the boy again, head tilted to one side. Refused to let his expression soften, as he scooped his Horcrux up to put him in an actual bed because he didn't think that sleeping position was supposed to be possible for human beings.
Then he got to work.
Harry awoke to the sizzling smell of bacon. Blinked several times to find himself in his now familiar bed at the cottage, and figured that whatever else happened at least he wasn't going to die stuck in a house he couldn't get out of.
He padded downstairs in a state of anticipation, with warm socks on to ward off the chill.
...there was a Christmas tree now. There was a Christmas tree in the living room. A small tree, and modestly decorated compared to the Dursley and Hogwarts spectrum of fanfare. And then there was a present.
Harry swallowed thickly and retreated.
Tom had his back to him in the kitchen, but glanced over his shoulder with an unnerving accuracy to greet Harry when he appeared. He still had no idea how the young dark lord could track his movements quite so effectively.
"...Merry Christmas." Harry's mouth felt dry. Tom just nodded back.
"There's tea and breakfast, if you want some."
"Thanks."
The moment hovered, and at first they ate in a tentative silence. It was actually quite funny how hard Tom seemed to be ignoring the Christmas tree he'd put up in the other room.
"You got me a present."
"And there was me thinking you still believed in Father Christmas."
"I'm thirteen!" Harry protested, with an indignant huff. Tom's lips twitched.
"It might be coal."
"You didn't get me coal."
"Should I take your presence here as a marker of which side you've chosen? Did something happen?"
Well, that was a rather abrupt way to plunge them into a more serious conversation. Harry sipped his tea, carefully.
"I'm never going to support Voldemort. Not so long as he stands for what he currently stands," he said. "So...no. Still grey. If I get any choice in the matter at all. And nothing happened."
In light of Harry's realization, Tom's confusion as to his presence was just a little bit tragic. Harry pushed on stubbornly, despite the eyes narrowed at him from across the table.
"It's Christmas, okay?" he shrugged, holding Tom's gaze almost defiantly. "Nobody should be alone on Christmas."
"You pitied me?" A dangerous tone. Harry scowled.
"I know what it's like to have absolutely nobody to spend Christmas with," he snapped. "It's not pity, it's called having a sense of empathy. People who aren't psychopaths get that. Why did you get me a Christmas present if you're just going to be an arse? What, is it a severed head or something?"
They glared at each other across the table. Harry could just imagine the festive and cosy atmosphere at the Burrow at that time, for whoever was up. Still, maybe he was an idiot but he had got himself into this now, and he was damn well going to see it through.
Then Tom tugged a hand through his hair in a surprisingly human gesture.
"Go and open it," he requested. It wasn't quite an apology. Harry nonetheless returned with the small gift box, hesitating and watching Tom for a hint of anything particularly cruel, before warily unwrapping the present.
There was a magical textbook on Wandless Magic - and Harry had never even known that was properly a thing, though of course he'd noticed his own bursts of not-so-accidental accidental magic.
And there was a small key.
Harry's brow furrowed. There was nothing in the gift box that he could see it opening, and he glanced up at Tom.
"It's for the front door," the Slytherin Heir murmured.
Harry's ears were suddenly ringing, his heart pounding fit to burst out of his chest.
"The front door," he repeated, faintly.
"Well, it's not like you're my prisoner, is it Harry? You're my Horcrux."
Harry felt his face split in a grin.
A/N: Merry Christmas! xxx